


The Flu

by LudicrousLegacy



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Seriously this is grossly cheesy don't even bother, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousLegacy/pseuds/LudicrousLegacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr has the flu. Malik takes care of him. Birthday fic for mrasayf on tumblr ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flu

Carefully balancing a full bowl of chicken soup on a tray, Malik slowly made his way from the kitchen to where Altaïr lay sprawled on the sofa, swathed in blankets and wearing an expression that could curdle milk. "Hey, grumpy, lighten up a bit, okay?" He sighed, setting the tray down carefully on the coffee table and bending over to press a cool hand to his forehead.

Altaïr merely glared at him and wrapped his blankets tighter around himself. He sniffled pathetically, feeling his nasal tracts burn with each intake of breath. He slipped his hand under the covers to retrieve a tissue, attempting to wipe his nose but wincing as his tormented, inflamed skin protested against the touch. "Leave me alone, Malik, I’m dying here."

Malik rolled his eyes, easing the tissue out of Altaïr's hands and dabbing lightly at his nostrils for him, his other hand pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. "Well, can you sit up? I made you some soup. Eat it while it’s still hot."

Altaïr's vision swam as he attempted to sit up on the couch, fumbling under the multitude of covers. Finally, he gingerly set his feet to the ground, immediately shivering and drawing the covers closer around his shoulders. Eyeing Malik dubiously, he reached for the soup. “What kind of soup?”

"Chicken noodle." Malik replied, tucking the blanket more tightly around him. "Don’t get too excited though, it was canned. All I did was heat it up and add some water.”

A small chuckle escaped Altaïr’s throat as he spooned up some of the soup." And for a moment there, I thought you had actually put some effort into looking after me." Malik scowled, despite his teasing tone. “I think you ought to finally get around to learning how to cook for real, Mal.”

“You don’t call this effort?” Malik groused, fluffing up the pillow behind Altaïr’s head. “Shut up and eat your canned soup, Altaïr, I’m skipping a whole day of classes for this.”

Smirking, Altaïr brought another spoonful of soup to his mouth, wincing as the parched skin of his lips stretched. “It’s really good, Malik.” He admitted, in between coughs that nearly sent the bowl flying. “Thank you.”

Malik shrugged, though he seemed pleased. “It’s the least I could do.” He said, pushing Altaïr’s hair back again and kissing his forehead. “Finish that off, I’ll come get the bowl in a moment.”

Altaïr fell silent as he slurped up the soup, which really did taste quite good. Or as good as anything could taste to someone with a cold as bad as his. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Malik cleaning up in the kitchen, smiling slightly as he set aside the bowl and settled back under the covers.

When Malik came back for the bowl, he had already gone back to sleep.

*

When Altaïr came back round, it was already dark. He was still bundled up on the couch, though blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he noticed the fingers curled up in his hair. Looking upwards, he found his head was laid in Malik’s lap. He had apparently fallen asleep reading some papers, for they rested at his side, and his glasses were still perched on his nose. His mouth had fallen open slightly, and he was snoring lightly.

He rustled around a bit, trying to get free of his blankets without waking Malik, but the movement roused him anyway. He stifled a yawn and smiled at him, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “Hey.” He mumbled, as Altaïr finally pushed the blankets away. Malik’s hand was still buried in his hair, and Altaïr smiled back, rubbing his cheek against his hand. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” Altaïr replied, biting back a yawn of his own. “What exactly was in that soup?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Malik replied, though he frowned slightly as he touched Altaïr’s forehead. “Your nose seems to have cleared up, but you have a fever still.”

Altaïr shrugged, but perked up suddenly when something occurred to him. “You know, I heard of a great strategy for getting rid of fever."

"Hmm...?" Malik replied absently. "And what might that be?”

"Would you like me to show you?" Altaïr whispered, his breath hitching slightly as he shifted position, so that he was sitting up beside Malik. He curled up beside him, a suggestive hand on his thigh as he smiled coyly at him.

Malik’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and his lips curled into a smile even as he shook his head. “Seriously?” He asked, tongue pressed hard against a molar as he tried not to laugh.

Gently pushing him back against the cushions of the couch, Altaïr climbed over Malik's body, bending his head to gently lap at the warm, sweaty skin of his neck. "The best and fastest way to get rid of a fever is to sweat it out." He explained. “This will certainly get me sweating, if you know what I mean.”

Grinning, Malik shoved him off, rising to his feet. “Hell no, Altaïr, you’re not making me sick. Don’t even think about it. Nu-uh. No way.” He stretched himself and yawned, gathering his papers and making for the bedroom. “Go take a hot shower if you need to sweat. And take some more Tylenol. It’s been more than four hours.”

“Kiss me, at least?” Altaïr whined, quickly rising from the couch and running after him. He caught him from behind in a tight hug, nuzzling his face into the nape of his neck. “Just once?”

Malik sighed, turning around in Altaïr’s arms. “One kiss?” He arched an eyebrow as Altaïr nodded enthusiastically. He sighed and moved in closer, closing his eyes. “One kiss.” He repeated.

Altaïr grinned, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Malik’s with a soft exhale. Tracing his lips with the tip of his tongue, he kissed him hard, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue in, even as he slipped a thigh in between both of Malik’s. Malik stumbled backwards and Altaïr followed, pressing him back against the wall as he deepened the kiss, causing both of them to groan.

Malik licked his lips when they finally broke apart, staring up at Altaïr with wide eyes. “I know I’m going to regret this.” He grumbled, taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. “Come here, idiot.” He groused, as Altaïr grinned triumphantly. “You have a fever to sweat out.”

*

“Get away from me, or so help me God I will bite that stupid grin off your face, Altaïr.”

Altaïr merely grinned as he set the bowl of soup down on the table for his sick boyfriend, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It was totally worth it, you and I both know that.”

Malik didn’t reply, he simply clutched his blankets tighter and reached for the soup. “This is all your fault and I hate you.” He complained, as Altaïr laughed and stroked his hair gently. “I love you too.” He replied, as Malik began to sip. “So much, that I actually made the soup myself. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I gave my poor, sick baby _canned_ soup? Imagine the horror!”

He laughed so hard, he didn’t even see the couch cushion flying at his face.


End file.
